Daynel spoke about her experience as she nibbled on her food. Draiken listened with interest, especially to the words of the spell.
“Are you certain that was the exact phrase set upon the doorway?”
“Yes. It is etched in my mind. What is its meaning?”
“I am not certain, but I do believe that it will be what is required to eliminate the Darkness being brought by Ethan’s evil. It stirs even now, attacking Sacred Glens.”
“How can we destroy it?”
“You must first master discipline. The temple’s teachings are nothing more than tools to help us learn to focus upon what it truly important. You are without such teachings, so we will use the gods’ ways that were shown to you today.”
“When do we start?” Daynel asked eagerly.
Chapter Eleven
Draiken sat across from the young woman, perched on a low tree branch that had formed itself to make a comfortable chair. Daynel’s face was red as she cursed the world, hanging upside down and held by another branch wrapped around her left ankle.
“Daynel, I have told you that discipline does not come about by threats and tantrums. It is born of patience.”
“Patience?” Daynel shrieked, pounding her fist against the tree trunk. “You are preaching about patience?”
“I admit that it is not the strongest of my virtues….”
“You magically forced a peach tree to bear fruit because you did not wish to wait for the servant to bring you lunch!”
“This is true, but I already know how to control my powers and…ow! Daynel! Stop it now!” Draiken hopped out of his seat, slapping at invisible switches. Air? She was using air? Daynel’s red face tightened into a scowl as she focused on the backs of his legs and buttocks, increasing the intensity of the lashes. She suddenly yelped as she, too, began to feel the same switches land quite steadily, and with great force, across the backs of her own legs and bottom.
“Yield! I yield!” she barked, trying to avoid the unseen implements, still hanging upside down and dangling by a single leg. “Pleeeeease, stop!”
Draiken had ceased his hopping the moment he countered her spell with his own. He commanded the branch to lower the crying girl to the ground and helped her to her feet.
“What did you do?” he asked, brushing her off.
“What do you mean?” she sniffled, looking pathetic with a still very red face and hair filled with leaves and twigs.
“You summoned Air to switch me, yet you were angry. Anger bears fire, peace brings air. How did you draw Air?”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking of how funny you would look being switched. And how much you deserved it.”
Draiken thought carefully for a moment, then tapped the tip of her nose. “I think we are going about this all the wrong way. You always must be defiant, must you?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Daynel pouted, following him out of the grove. They ventured down to the beach and Daynel took a seat on a large rock to wait for more instructions.
“Water is controlled by joy. When—” His words were cut off as a large sheet of water rose and landed on top of his head. Daynel broke into gales of laughter as Draiken stood, sodden and very silent. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her.
“This is not amusing.”
Daynel laughed again, bringing a second sheet to splash him straight in the face. “You deserve it, you big bully! A little cold water should cool you off.”
Draiken growled, sending flame about himself and the water evaporated in a steaming hiss. Daynel’s eyes widened, amazed by the power his demonstrated.
“Teach me how to do that!”
“The only thing I am going to teach you is about proper respect, young lady. Follow me, and do not play any further games.”
Daynel hopped off the boulder and trotted to keep close to him as he entered the village. The people prostrated themselves as he stormed past them, looking up with curiosity at the tiny girl who followed the high priest, wondering her purpose. A few recognized her from the beach, and whispered prayers for her. Daynel was out of breath by time they reached a field where several old people were struggling with clearing the ground and laying a crop.
“What is this place?” she asked, bent over with her hands on her knees as she panted.
“This is called Beggar’s Field. Those who are too old or sick to serve anywhere else in the village are put to work here. The soil is fertile, but there are too many rocks to grow a decent yield.”
“That is so wrong. These people should be resting, not breaking their backs!”
“You are right. Help them, Daynel. They deserve to be helped, don’t they?”
Daynel stared at the ancient, bent old woman as she reached over and gently touched the broken leg of a man who could barely stand. There was so much compassion in that simple gesture that Daynel felt her eyes fill with tears. The ground began to shake and Draiken crossed his arms, watching in awe as the rocks were pushed to form a wall on the high side of the field, blocking off the winds from the sea. The people fell to their faces before her, blessing her for her assistance and offering thanksgiving.
“Thank the gods, not me,” Daynel said sincerely, reaching to also touch the man with the broken leg tenderly. “Plant your seeds.”
She rejoined Draiken to watch the people scatter the seeds and then set about the laborious task of bringing water to them. He nodded at her questioning glance and she inhaled, visualizing a light rain upon the field. Loud exclamations were heard as the drops began to fall briskly.
“With ease, little priestess,” Draiken urged, “you do not wish to wash away the fruit of their labors, do you?”
“What fruit? I…I did that?” Daynel asked, opening her eyes and seeing a field rich in greenery. “How?”
“Your power lays in need, my love. What your heart believes is deserved is how your magic serves you. Your heart dictates the type of power used as well. This can be dangerous, for if your heart is not pure or has selfish ambition, it can cause great harm.”
“How does one change the thoughts of the heart?”
“You learn to see as I have seen…into infinity and you would be true to yourself. But to know this is also to suffer.”
“Draiken, enough with the priestly rhetoric. Tell me or…why aren’t you yelling?”
“Because you attempted to pinch me with Air? Your heart knows it’s wrong now. It has learned and will never use anything to cause me discomfort again. They come with a basket of vegetables as thanks,” he whispered, seeing the small group approach them. “Accept it humbly and offer to heal that man’s leg.”
“I do not know how.”
“Healing is complicated and requires practice. I will guide you.”
Daynel did as Draiken instructed, profusely thanking the people for their wonderful gift and praising the beauty of the harvest they had chosen for her. She asked the man if he would allow her the honor of healing his leg, admitting that she was learning and that she would require instruction. He gratefully accepted and sat upon the ground next to her and the high priest.
Draiken uttered some words, calling upon the wisdom of the gods, and had Daynel repeat them continuously until they rolled off her lips as though she had uttered them from the cradle. He stood behind her and pressed his chest against her back, wrapping his shoulders around hers while keeping his arms outstretched. Like wings of a dragon. Daynel continued to chant the phrase, her eyes closed with Draiken’s deep rumbling behind her.
They spoke to her! Daynel almost broke her chant with delight. The gods directed her to place air about the fractured bone and mold the material back to the proper shape. Water in the blood increased, swirling around the bone and muscle, bringing it nutrients and life. Finally earth, the pressure of gravity pressing the mass together, strengthening it. Daynel saw each process in her mind’s eye, all the while aware of Draiken holding her solidly in place. Abruptly, the voices departed and Daynel, suddenly withdrawn from the presence of
the gods, collapsed in Draiken’s arms.
* * *
“I fear it was too much for the child to endure her first day, my son,” the Healer said to Draiken after putting the exhausted girl to bed. “She needs her rest.”
“I have never seen a new one take to the power as she did, Healer. With such natural instinct. Even Ilesbet required years of training to reach her potential.”
“You do not wish to frighten her, or make her arrogant. Take care with her, Draiken. If she is to be high priestess of the Eastern Islands, then she has much responsibility to face.”
“Ah, more than that, old friend. She is to also be high priestess and queen of the southern kingdom. Her strength, with mine, must be strong enough to conquer a force of evil that is destroying the land.”
“Even more reason to allow her to rest. And keep your dragon to himself tonight,” the Healer eyed Draiken’s crotch. “Allow her time to recover before you share your power with her. I sense your need, old friend. The Power flies from you like lightning, needing its target. You must take care with her, for I am afraid it will be too much for her to bear.”
“I am aware of that. My sister requires the sharing of blood to exchange power with the Guardian. Why is it that I am required the sharing of my seed?”
“You must ask the gods that question. My answer will only bring you sorrow.”
“Tell me. We have known one another since you taught me as a boy. You have withheld no truths from me, even if unpleasant.”
“Very well. When a priestess is required to make a blood sacrifice to give power to her Guardian, that is what she will also be required to give to her people.”
“Ilesbet does not practice human sacrifice, Healer. It is against her heart and she knows that the gods take no pleasure in it.”
“She will sacrifice herself, my son. And your offering, your seed…it will be what is needed to replace that which is lost.”
“No…”
“You know the one man’s death opens the doorway for another man’s life.”
Draiken pushed a chair out of his way as he moved across the room to stare into the fire.
“I will not accept that. I refuse! You hear me?” he shouted up towards the heavens. “I defy you!”
“Draiken?” Daynel called sleepily from across the room. “Why are you shouting? Please don’t worry. I,” she yawned, nestling down in the pillows, “will take care of everything.”
“I apologize, my darling. Go back to sleep.”
“Come join me. I am cold,” Daynel murmured.
The Healer chuckled noiselessly, patting the startled man’s shoulder. “From the mouths of babes, wisdom spews. Trust her. Trust the gods. Trust yourself.”
“But Ilesbet…”
“She has faith, so must you.”
* * *
Ethan stood clothed in red, his arms raised to the dais upon which three drops of blood were carved. On the platform before him was a young woman whose glazed eyes stared at the stars, pupils dilated from the drugs he had slipped her in the wine they shared that evening. He lifted two giant, curved daggers to the sky, one in each hand, and began to chant the words of the Sacrifice…only his words were chanted in reverse. The sacred grove, designated as a place of peace where no weapon was to be brought nor was a hand to be lifted in violence, was now a place of execution. Starting fifteen years earlier, he had sacrificed his elder brother upon the altar. Five years later, the second eldest found his way upon the slab and his third brother five years after that. Now the woman, his young half-sister, was to meet her death. Except for the king, there was none who shared his blood left alive to take the throne. His greed had led him to make an oath with the Darkness, and to satisfy its craving for royal blood every five years until Ethan was the only survivor of the royal lineage. With the death of his bastard sister, only his father remained. And that particular sacrifice would secure him power to take both the southern and the northern kingdoms in full. With the death of the king, he no longer needed to be the successor of his father’s throne through marriage and impregnating the whore from the north. No, he would just take what was rightfully his and be rid of those who bothered him like annoying gnats on a summer’s day.
The shaman joined the prince in his chanting, ignoring the heads that bowed to the ground, each with a small center portion of their scalp skinned away and tattooed in red. Hidden by hair and headwear, no one noticed the burned scar tissue on the edges of these wounds, or that each disappeared from their homes the first night of a new moon to pray to Death.
Ethan turned to the sound of crying and squatted down to look into the face of a follower.
“Why do you cry on the night of celebration?” he demanded.
“I beg all pardon, your lordship,” the feminine voice answered. “I regret that I did not know the Darkness before the death of my child. He was just an infant and she….She refused to bring healing to him!”
“She could not because her gods are weak and have no compassion. Our god,” Ethan stood, his voice rising to be heard, “has compassion. This one sacrifice will save all his followers five years free from death. No one here shall die, for we have been spared because of the gift of blood given us by a willing believer! You!” He turned to the woman tied to the altar, noticing her eyes frantically jerking back and forth. “Do you believe? Will the god of Darkness save his people from the shadow of death in payment for your life? What? Ahh…she whispers, yes!” Ethan pretended to hear words coming from the woman’s lips.
He lifted the daggers again into the air, chanting the backwards Runes loudly in repetition. He was joined by a chorus of followers, hundreds of people who had come that night to see the desecration of another sacred grove, which weakened the strength of all. He began to weave the daggers above his head, painting Runes in the blank canvas of the starry sky. The chanting grew, the words vibrating through the empty countryside and lost in the open sea. Ethan began to sway, his rotund body undulating in the ebb and flow of the incantation, the daggers’ edges reflecting the light of the torches that encircled the holding. The victim began to cry, enough sensation returning to her body that she could blink her eyes and mouth words begging mercy. Ethan’s blades hypnotized her, their movements large and captivating. Time slowed as the blades whirled faster, writing their demands in the air, shattering screams from them demanding the price. The woman’s eyes widened as the daggers paused above her, just before plunging together into the center of her ribcage. She screamed as the blades erupted in fire and Ethan slowly separated them, tearing her body into a right and left half.
He reached into her chest cavity and removed her still beating heart, holding it up for the worshippers to witness. He bellowed one last chant and threw it to the ground where it burst into a blue flame and turned to ash. He nodded to the assistants of either side of him to fulfill their purpose. The worshippers lined themselves up on either side of the altar so that they might taste the blood of the sacrifice. Ethan smiled, appraising the length of the lines as being nearly the same, for those from the southern kingdom stood on the right and those from the north stood to the left. Yes, the north would be his for the taking very soon. Just as soon as the high priestess shed her blood for the sake of her weak, pathetic gods.
* * *
Daynel drifted between the lands of the living and the lands of the dead, frowning as she carefully stepped along the narrow path. The path grew ever narrower, making her fearful that she would fall. She called out for Draiken, but he was not answering. This was her journey to take alone, he had told her. She would know what to do if she allowed her heart to lead her.
The journey had begun with her permitting the placement of the first Rune, a brand of the ever-living circle upon the upper left breast, above her heart. Two weeks had passed since the day of her testing and Daynel was tired of complying with the dragon priest’s orders. For sport, she began to defy him, to test his limits and his patience. She had learned to sense his power and quickly block i
t, thus ripping from him the ability to punish her from a distance. Draiken did not take this maneuver lightly and had angrily stormed upon her, grabbed her arm and sent her lying across the span of his knees before the yard of witnesses. Daynel screamed her objections, pinned thoroughly in place with one massive arm across her back. Draiken added to her indignities by lifting the edge of her tunic and peeling down her leggings to expose the once-again milky white flesh.
A green switch flew into his hand on command of his power and he laid that switch cleanly across the globes, pleased to see a bright red stripe appear from where it had struck. The switch rebounded off the firm cheeks, appearing excited after it had made first contact. Daynel released her usual yowl of frustration, trying desperately to think of something the man deserved that she could deliver. Her plans were as disheveled as her hair, for the switch fell in rapid tempo, leaving behind an impression of intent to change her manners and teach her respect. The switch did not grow weary or bored as it reinforced the lesson of self-control and proper behavior.
“There is a time and a place, young lady,” Draiken said calmly as the switch effortlessly marked her bottom and upper thighs with long, red streaks, “for your games. This is neither! You must grow up and take responsibility of your destiny! This punishment will continue until you enter the Gates of Heaven, but I will not lend you aid. This is your journey. One that your heart must lead you through.”
“Draaaaaaaiken, I beg youuuu,” Daynel sobbed, the fire in her bottom growing unbearably hot. “I shall show myself worthy to you! Please…”
Draiken surrounded the two of them with air, making the world mute to her cries and promises. He knew many people watched, some in horror, others in fascination, as he presented the Journey of Choosing to the young woman via her backside. Unwilling to break her skin with the switch, Draiken replaced it with his heavy, callused hand after forcing her thighs to spread wide apart to allow him sight of her pink, fleshy treasures. The change caused Daynel to scream anew, again begging his mercy. Mercy was a word unknown, for even the laxest smack of his hand anywhere around her bare bottom and open thighs raised a tongue of flame upon the scarlet embers of the growing ache within her.
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